Tales of the Big Bad Wolf: The Red Riding Hood Arc
by eriesalia
Summary: It is a world of fairies and fairy tales, elves, and the occasional brooding anti-hero, like our protagonist "The Wolf of the Northernlands", who is pulled out of his solitary existance by the arrival of a Red Riding Hood.  Fairy Tale, Fantasy, and more . FFnet version is a sample. See talesofthebigbadwolf dot com for continuation!
1. Chapter 1

Tales of the Big Bad Wolf (c) SgL

is a serial work posted weekly at talesofthebigbadwolf . com

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_In December  
Wings can not cut the cold night and take flight.  
Instead the bird will fall where the dark ones wait._

In the northern lands, the first fall of snow came early. In those woods, a woman walked the empty road. The sound of her steps moving crisply on frozen dirt broke the silence of falling snow, creating a restlessness in the woods around was a flash of red in an otherwise uniformly pale scene of trees, snow, and sky. There had been no one on the road for hours; those who preferred the gentle predictability of spring, the plentiful harvests of summer and autumn had long left these roads weeks previously. Those types would winter in the warmer lands by the southern seas.

And yet she continued, her back to the south, her steps facing north - a brown eyed, brown skinned bird caught in a frozen wind. She sang quietly under her breath a strange little nursery rhyme, not knowing that it had been a lean fall, and an even more punishing winter that had lasted weeks longer than anyone could remember. She did not know why the trees had been rubbed raw; she had never seen the type of hunger that drove small animals to leave their dens after the first snow and wander out desperately to forage, only to be plucked off by larger, equally desperate animals.

She had not been in the Northlands for years.

While the cold began to wear down at her, she reminded herself that it was only ten minutes from Winchester to her grandmother's home. She had been told if she had walked straight north down the road from Crossroads without stopping, she would be at Winchester in time for the evening dinner. The shopkeepers in Crossroads, however, could not have possibly known that the many hilly parts on said road would have iced over and could not be traversed as quickly as they had promised.

When the sun had set, she found herself not yet in Winchester. Instead she was caught in the deepening dark of the words. When a howl sounded faintly in the distance, she was surprised. They had neglected to warn her of the things that dwelled within the woods. The woman's hand left the basket she carried and drew instead to her side, fingering the gift from her mother that had secured around her waist. She began to move more quickly.

Not yet, she thought. Not now.

She should not use it; once the gift was used, she could not use it again so soon. She compelled herself forward, as she soon would be at the bridge where her grandmother's retainer should be waiting to help her. And beyond the bridge, was a village, and beyond that was grandmother, waiting. That thought sustained her courage for the next five minutes as she walked quickly and tried not to panic as the howls began to draw faintly closer. She was able to maintain her purpose and courage by thinking of all these things.

And yet, as she came upon a clearing before an open bridge, she found no one there other than a stone lion statue who yawned indifferently at travelers as they passed by. For a moment, she paused in disbelief and looked askance at the lion before she heard the howls somewhere behind her turn into growls and barking- their sounds drawing closer.

She fingered the pouch on her side and picked up her pace to pass the stone guardian. It had been placed there, she had been told as a child, as a protective ward. If there was any luck to it, she wanted to be behind it.

Across the bridge she went, trying not to slide as she did so. The growls from somewhere close by had stopped. She tensed slightly, but kept going. If those things were preparing to follow her, they would have to come this same way.

The growls started again as she finished crossing the bridge, but had changed their pattern. There was clearly something else that had directed their attention.

Growls became barks, angry and attacking.

Barks became sad, pathetic yelps that, in kind, turned to howls of anguish.

She was startled. Had whatever bear or large animal the dogs had run across suddenly turn on them?

There came yet another sound, an odd sound an ominous snuffling and crunching noise - a sound of bones being crunched and dogs screaming as if they were splintered into nothingness. That was no bear, she realized with a sudden start. There were no roars, no sounds, in that sad fight. Whatever they were up against was silent.

Her feet had started moving on their own. As she passed old, abandoned houses along the road, her thoughts flew back to the stories of the Shadow things, or the Unthings, as Grandmother had liked to call them.

Grandmother had said that many years ago, they had appeared shortly after the elves withdrew from the area. Her grandmother had scolded her never to go out alone at night, particularly when there was no moon. Unlike other creatures which feared man or the weapons they held, these things were creatures of emptiness, hungry for both flesh and spirit, and consumed things indiscriminately. However, they detested the light, and could be tricked easily.

In the summers she had passed here, she had never seen one. And yet, the moon was clearly out this evening. If that were an Unthing, what sense did it make for it to be out now?

Logical thought asserted itself… she needed light, a lamp, something to force that thing away should it come for her. She paused at a gate where lanterns were lit. It would be rude to try to force her way in, but this was the first sign of any sort of inhabited residence, and she was anxious to get off this road . Looking back behind her, towards the bridge - she thought she saw a large shadow at the stone lion. She shook the gate with her hands forcefully, not expecting it to suddenly swing inward. She stumbled inside the gate, and as soon as she had recovered, instinctively slammed shut the gate behind her and secured it.

She took a deep breath, trying to figure what to do. She looked down what appeared to be a slightly cleared path; lighted buildings stood at the other end. Her feet started to move her towards them as there would surely be someone here to help her.

She had not gotten very far when her boot carelessly caught a bit of ice, sending her into the snow and scattering apples in her wake.

For a moment, she forgot that she was trying to flee something strange and that killed wild dogs. She looked at the ground horrified. The apples were precious items, intended for her grandmother, waiting for her at the end of this strange evening. There wasn't any fruit to be had in these parts this time of year; to lose these would be a blow for her ailing grandmother.

She made an undignified picture sprawled over the ground as she tried to pick them up, making haste to retrieve them, but trying hard to finish.  
Too late, she noticed a sudden warm flickering color on the white snow, and a slight shadow looming over her.

"Who dares trespass these grounds?" A voice like ice made her tremble.

Slowly, she turned her head to look up at cold grey eyes.

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Hello lovely folks! Long time no write!  
This is the start of a new original serial work based on a combination of fairytales, mythological, and fantasy elements. I'll be posting the main updates at the website talesofthebigbadwolf dot com .Please follow me there for the next part. I may continue to post updates here but they will be less frequent as to avoid text snatching :)


	2. Chapter 2

_This work is posting weekly at _

_talesofthebigbadwolf . com  
_

_It is an original work (c) SgL, loosely based on a kajillion fairy tales and nursery rhymes!_

_

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**CHAPTER TWO:  
The Door of Hazel, The Castle of the Wolf**

_Knock at the door,  
Pull the bell,  
Lift the latch,  
Walk in all's well_

The snow continued to fall softly, erasing the crisp tracks they left upon the ground upon which they walked.

As for the walk itself, it had become much longer than she had expected. She had failed to realize earlier that the building she had seen from the gate at the road was not all that close. From there it had appeared to be a small building, but as they continued down the path it became apparent it was quite large.

Elanore took small steps to the Count's large ones, trying valiantly to keep close to the man. She had not been brought up in a manner as to follow strange men here or there but as incongruous as this was with what she had been told as a child, she did not let it bother her too much. It had become quite clear that surviving winter in the Northlands mandated that she had to learn to adapt to new rules.

Her curiosity about this place and the man who lived there grew as they went deeper down the path. In the stories she had heard of Winchester she had never heard of this estate or the existence of a Count. Unfortunately, the walk thus far did little to reveal much about either. He had maintained his silence for the better part of the fifteen minutes down the road, and the path covered with trees and bushes did not reveal much either.

When the path suddenly widened, she found herself in a courtyard of statues. As she continued forward, she was surprised to find the statues identical to one another. Dozens of stone lions sat in the midst of barren, frozen ground of an apparent garden staring back at the path. They were like the one on the bridge, if only smaller.

The Count paused next to the last lion in their path. He placed a gentle hand on it for a moment before brushing off the snow that had collected on top of its head. When finished, he resumed his walk towards the house.

As she passed the last lion, she looked at it carefully. For some reason, it did not look like the others – as if it was, in fact, posed in such a manner that it appeared more 'lively' than the others in the garden. She concluded finally that there was something remarkable about the way the sculptor had rendered the eyes. She puzzled over the connection between these lions and the stories she had heard as a child about the protector of the bridge.

The Count eased his pace, allowing her to catch up to him. The Count finally broke his silence. "It is safer here."

She noted that he appeared slightly more relaxed (albeit only ever so slightly). "The lions—" she answered. "The stone lion on the bridge, you have others like it here."

"Indeed," he gave a hint of a smile, "One might say that they are its brothers."

Elanore took a moment to look back at the path upon which they had walked. She did not know how many of these lions there happened to be, but the way the lions were aligned left a peculiar impression upon her. Elanore wanted to count them, but could not as the Count had moved yet again.

He stood waiting at the foot of a large heavy iron door, over which stood a doorframe carved with numerous images.

"This door," she could not help but gasp. "It's marvelous."

He looked up at the carvings with a slightly pleased look on his face. "It is a door wrought by the hands of the elves," he pushed it open for her. "They call it a door of magic, made of hazel."

'_Hazel - like the trees in fairy tales,'_ Elanore thought to herself. She wondered if some of the images that had been carved in the frame were, in fact, taken from some of those tales. She wanted to look again, but she continued through the opened door.

Elanore had only a moment's opportunity to note her surroundings – to glance at the rich dark wood panels lining the large entryway - before an ancient man stepped forward from the shadows. The man took the cloak from the Count's shoulders and handed it off to one of the other servants who had magically appeared from one of the many various sized doors surrounding the entry way.

They formed a strange half-circle about her and the Count. Including the old man, there were seven servants in all.

She was surprised to see a rather kindly expression form on the old man's face as he turned to look at her. In contrast to the sullen and unfriendly expression on her apparent rescuer, he was jovial in comparison.

"You have brought home a young lady from your walk, sir?" The man smiled broadly.

At that comment, a quiet wave of bemusement rippled through the half a dozen servants who had gathered around their master. Elanore felt her face warm slightly.

The familiarity of the question did not shock the Count, but seemed to rouse him from his otherwise silent state.

"I happened upon her while walking the grounds, Hastings." the Count frowned slightly. "Or rather she happened upon me as I happened to be moving to investigate some noises by the gate. As it turned out—" he said a bit more gravely, "There are shadows on the road that seemed to have chased Miss Redley as she was making her way to town."

Elanore nodded slightly, acknowledging that last statement.

The elder servant blinked at her, while the other servants looked at her with undisguised interest. "It is not wise to be walking on the open roads, miss. Particularly with the early winter evenings."

"My apologies," Elanore looked about, suddenly realizing (as her eyes began to adjust to the lighting) that several of the more wizened servants were shaking their heads. She also noticed their somewhat rumpled appearance. It was becoming much clearer to her that Mr. Hastings and the entire household had apparently otherwise retired for the evening. "I was hurrying to Winchester," she bowed her head. "I was told in the last town that I could make it to the next before dinner if I hurried. The roads were icier than they had indicated, and so I was caught outside after the sun had set."

"Good gracious," she could hear one of the littler ladies mumbling. "Did they not tell you there was a coach?"

Elanore looked about, not certain who had asked the question, but aware of the many eyes upon her, continued. "I was told that that they would not send it until the snow had stopped. They were wanting to wait a few more days. My grandmother is not well and I asked if it was walkable—"

"The Crossroads townsfolk are ignorant about the area and the dangers therein," the Count interrupted with a frown. "We'll have to make our warnings much more clear to them for future purposes and warn them against letting travelers walk this way. Now," he diverted the attention of the staff to other things. "Tend to this young lady, Hastings."

"Sir?"

"With the circumstances being rather unusual, it would be best to accommodate her until it is light. The roads will be much safer for travelers then."

"Yes, sir" Hastings bowed.

"I'll take my leave then. Good evening, Miss Redley," the Count abruptly announced before turning on his heel and disappearing down one of the various hallways.

Elanore could not hide her astonishment at the suddenness of her host's departure, or the sudden scattering of the servants back through the many doors into the entryway. "Did I do something to offend them all?" she wondered aloud.

Hastings coughed, reminding her that she had not quite been left alone. "The master does not like his staff to loiter or to indulge their curiosities. They know to leave you be. As for the master, he does seems rather unsettled, Miss."

"I do not mean to impose," Elanore spoke gently.

"Ah, it's not that young miss," Hastings took the opportunity to dust the snow from her cloak, before taking it in hand. "It's the bit about the shadows. Haven't ever heard of them coming this close to these parts. Most of us have never seen them."

"Neither have I," Elanore found herself warming to the older gentleman. Although he was a bit blunt and exceptionally curious for a butler, compared to his master, he was rather congenial. "I wasn't even sure if it was one when I saw it, nor exactly what to do."

The man chuckled. "No one ever knows what to do. There is no logic to those things, I'm afraid. "

She frowned. "Is it true they eat up anything?"

"Ah, " Hastings pondered that for a moment. "I'm afraid I do not know anything more than what the stories say. You'll have to ask the master. He knows far more than any of us, I'm afraid. Now—" he cleared his throat, "—we must pay attention to other matters." He began fussing with folding her cloak. "Please follow, my dear. We will get your things dried and a meal sent to your room."

Elanore quietly tiptoed after him down a maze of hallways, past a kitchen, and what appeared to be a storeroom. She could not tell exactly where they were going, but guessed that she was being led to one of the service staircases to a side building that Hastings explained was where most of the servants resided in winter. "It's a newer part of the building," Hastings apologized. "I apologize that we are not to put you up in more elegant quarters, but we close rooms that do not get enough heat. This building is easiest to heat in winter so it's best for you to stay here."

Elanore was not used to finery or the social conventions of the Northlands, so did not mind the appearance of a breach of protocol regarding guests that so worried the elderly manservant. As he opened one of the doors at the top of the staircase, she stepped inside a modest but warm room and looked about.

"As for the master," Hastings followed her inside in order to tend to the fire. "He has a tendency to seem impolite, young miss, but he has much on his mind. Your experience on the road, I'm sure is troubling him, Miss."

She recomposed herself and spoke good-naturedly to the older manservant. "I understand. I do not know what to think of it myself. I'm also afraid that the manner in which I imposed upon you all certainly must have startled you all much further."

"Indeed," the older man tilted his head as he assisted her with removing her scarlet cloak. "We do not receive many people, I'm afraid. If there is something strange about our manners, please do not take offense or think less of our master. He is simply a solitary person, unused to more cheerful society."

Elanore smiled slightly. "I will try not to judge him harshly. But I will also try not to try his patience."

Hastings bowed in acknowledgement. "One last thing, Miss Redley. And it will also seem rather impolite to mention this—"

"Do go ahead, sir."

"In general, the staff do not wander at night. The master tends to prefer his solitude and all that. Miss Redley if you would -"

"Ah," Elanore blinked. "I will not trouble you all and keep to my room."

"I'll have one of the ladies bring you a warm meal here then," the butler looked relieved. "She will be nearby if you need any further assistance."

She nodded, wondering exactly what that interchange had been about, but did not dare ask for more information. Instead, she bowed graciously as he put her cloak away and retired from the room.

When he left, Elanore went to the window and stared out into the snow filled darkness.

The evening would not pass all that easily for Elanore Redley. Although the household may have been perturbed by the idea of strange creatures floating about on the road, they had gone to sleep nonetheless. She kept a vigil by the window and watched the gate as best as she could, until overcome by exhaustion, she had fallen asleep in a chair by that window.

She needed not to have gone to all that trouble, as it turned out. She wasn't alone in keeping vigil. The master of the house stood in one of the watchtowers and, with the aide of a glass tube, looked out beyond the gate and back to the bridge.

The Count had been certain the shadows he had observed blotting out parts of the bridge should not, and _would not_ be able to pass the bridge. Long ago, members of his family had joined the elves in studying the stories around these and other creatures not normally found here. Together, they had discovered several measures that could undo these creatures.

But he had to acknowledge the extraordinary behavior of the creature as he trained his telescope on the stone lion at the bridge. And he had to acknowledge the limitations of the power of the statue. Although, made of elven magic of some sort, at best it showed it could only confuse what strange shadows and spirits that might pass out of the deep woods.

He moved the tube slightly to the left of the lion and noted the dark pools at the base of the statue. For a long time the pools sat quietly, before suddenly coalescing and then lengthening in height. He was filled with dread as for a few long moments it towered over the lion, before it collapsed over it

Wolfram watched intently as its dark tendrils crept around it and attempted to move past it. However, it ran against a seemingly invisible line which it could not cross

If the line held, he would not have to worry about whether the barriers would hold. He had placed an additional ward on the gate, and the lingering power of one hundred lions in the garden possessed the same properties of the stone lion on the bridge.

When the shadow suddenly shrank upon itself, he hoped for a moment it would disappear. Instead, it settled back into a strange pool next to the base of the statue, rippling as if it were preparing for yet another try.

He muttered a curse under his breath and wondered if this unusually aggressive behavior was because of the girl, Elanore Redley. He was uneasy about her – he had sensed something odd when he first saw her picking apples out from the snow . When she told of the shadow, he had not believed her. He had still firmly believed at that point that these dark things preferred darkness ; the sunlit and moonlit areas here were out of their domain. In most circumstances they did not hunt other creatures, rather they consumed poor creatures that mistook their appearance for starlit pools of water from which to drink.

Had he not visually confirmed the shadows in the distance, he would have turned her out on the road.

He was also still irritated that she had caught him unawares. He, who usually had an acute awareness of travelers on the road , had not known or seen her coming along this way. Somehow, she had evaded his notice while on the road.

That set her apart from most normal persons. Perhaps whatever it was that made her different also had been noticed by that strange creature outside.

Or it could have been a simple coincidence. Save for an occasional cart with supplies heading back and forth between Crossroads and Winchester or an occasional adventurer, persons did not take this road , and particularly during this time of year. She could have simply become potential food for a thing that was far from its usual habitat.

As for what to do about her now, he did not know. So much depended on exactly who she was, and the trouble she could cause for him. Hastings was of the mindset that she was a spy for the Eastlanders or the pirates. He had pointed out that no ordinary family would permit a young and pretty creature to wander about alone But the Count was confident that the girl was not a pirate. They were not that stupid to be wandering about, where there was no treasure and nothing to gain from being up here.

But what bothered him most was that she had broken his well-cultivated pattern of isolation. For many years, the Count was the sort that kept to himself, sparing himself any unnecessary interaction with the outside world. Most certainly, he did not meddle with the local lords and ladies, nor with the affairs of the towns that bordered his lands. He was a man who had no direct visitors. If someone were to come to the house, they dealt with only one or two of the servants.

The shadow again rose up again suddenly, this time widening in length as it attempted to encircle the lion. He trained his glass tube again on the spectacle, and noted the thing's inability to keep a hold on the statue. And yet it persisted trying. Its repeated effort would have been admirable had he not known and feared the shadow creature's destructive capability.

Maximilian did not understand its continued attempts to struggle with the lion. Moreover, he was troubled by the idea that even after it had apparently devoured a pack of wild dogs that were following Elanore Redley, it was not satisfied enough to dissipate or wander away. Instead, it remained. Whether it was waiting for the girl, or seeking out the humans that lived beyond the bridge, he would have no solution to resolve the situation. Only Elves would have some clue of what to do, and they would be a bother to find.

As to how and why a shadow came to be here, that was a far bigger problem.

The Count pondered if there could be a cause to this situation. Were there changes he had failed to notice in the area? Or could the cause be a person? He wondered about the others out there like him – different from other humans. Some were allies. Some were not. Could someone have directed that thing here?

He dropped his telescope for a moment, giving his shoulders and back a rest. His back was sensitive at these times, thanks to the last encounter he had with one of his "kind." She was, at that time, very powerful. Had she been interested in killing him, he would not be here at this very moment. But if the presence of the Unthing was the result of deliberate actions, this kind of plot would not be her style.

When he raised his glass tube to his eye, he observed that the shadow had once again retreated and fallen into a shapeless puddle at the base of the statue. He also observed that the sky was finally turning lighter, a sign that dawn was imminent.

As if it sensed the coming light, the inert shadow raised up its tendrils as if wanting to try one more time to assault the lion that barred it from its goal. As the sun crested over the horizon, he was relieved to see the thing freeze before disintegrating slowly in the sunlight. Its dissipation was an ironic and quiet end to the creature that had apparently taken many lives the previous evening.

And yet with that ending, he was even more aware of the folly behind his self-isolation. Long ago, he had withdrawn from the world thinking it would keep him quietly away from all things unexplainable and unsafe. And yet, the unexplainable and unsafe had found him once again.

He realized that things in his life now needed to change, but this time there was no one to tell him how.

The early morning light woke Elanore. She rubbed her eyes before pushing herself wearily off the chair that she had fallen asleep in and pressing her nose against the glass window to look outside.

When she realized the creature had disappeared from the bridge, the quietness of the house took on a potentially different meaning. She turned her attention back to the door, wondering if the thing had captured the sleeping inhabitants in this house.

Her fears were alleviated when she began hearing steps outside her door and the sound of activity from the floor below. It was a maidservant who came to her door shortly thereafter with the news that it was safe to make the journey to town. Elanore, with much lighter spirits, allowed herself to be hurried downstairs where the servants set before her some breakfast. As she watched them scurry about, she sensed they were somewhat anxious to have her be on her way.

If this observation saddened her, she did not show it. Instead she went graciously and quickly about finishing her meal. She, too, was eager to be on her way. After all, the matter of being accepted by strangers was not her primary concern in coming to the Northlands. Her grandmother was waiting.

She had just carefully put on her cloak when Hastings suddenly appeared at the table, and asked for her to follow him. "The master wishes to speak to you," he explained.

She had not expected to see the Count again; their encounter the previous evening had given her a strong impression that he was the type who would have better things to do this morning than deal with a trespasser on his property. However, Elanore gathered her things and dutifully followed Hastings through a labyrinthine maze of hallways. He moved so quickly that she could not keep track of her surroundings, but she was certain that their path was leading them downstairs.

Hastings stopped for a moment to pick up a small glass lamp and light it. Elanore looked about, slightly confused as they continued slightly upwards. She could feel air flowing down at them from somewhere – air that was chilly and damp.

Hastings stopped before a non-descript wooden panel and then placed his fingers somewhere upon it. She heard a slight click and then suddenly the panel swung inwards.

Elanore realized suddenly the precarious position she had placed herself in by allowing herself to be led so far away from the house. She took a deep breath before stepping through this created door and into sudden darkness. The panel shut behind her, and she froze, tightly clutching the basket in her hands.

To her surprise, the room was warm and fragrant, carrying a faint smell of spice and tobacco. She took one more step forward, looking about for any light to guide her. She was relieved to see a few lighted lamps in the room and a fireplace.

It was hard to see everything yet, but it appeared she had been led into a study or a parlor of some sort. She was relieved it was that and not a dungeon. With fingers slightly outstretched, she inched cautiously around a rather large table scattered with scrolls and various compasses.

"Sir?" She called out softly. Not once, but twice. "Are you here?"

With no audible response, she moved timidly towards the fireplace. Her progress was slow thanks to the mess of books and oddities scattered all over. But once there, she stood in front of the fireplace, warming herself and enjoying its soft light.

It was odd how at ease she felt here in contrast to the rest of the house. Whereas most of the rooms she had seen had a severe look to them, this room's cluttered nature seemed to lend the room an air of friendliness that was lacking elsewhere. Her opinion of the Count was softened by having seen this particular room.

She spent several moments looking at the paintings that surrounded the fireplace. Her eyes passed over a painting of a feast with three roasted pigs, past several portraits of persons she assumed were family, until it rested on a portrait that was partially covered by a dark cloth. She wondered why it was covered slightly, and who exactly might have been painted there.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a polite cough that came from somewhere within the room.

"My grandfather had poor taste in paintings, I'm afraid. He was obsessed with pigs and insisted on adding that ghastly image to a wall of otherwise distinguished subjects."

The sudden comment startled Elanore who, in her surprised state, could only gasp out some triviality. "They are intelligent creatures, I've been told."

She looked around for the Count, and finally found him reclining in a rather ornate and old-fashioned chaise hidden behind the table she had passed earlier. Elanore had not realized until then that she had been standing there the entire time in the Count's sight.

"That's what he said as well," the Count answered as he sat up, his eyes glittering with some untold amusement. "But not intelligent enough apparently to avoid becoming dinner."

Elanore was puzzled by the comment, but did not ask exactly what he meant. She was far more disconcerted by the particular expression on his face. "My apologies for disturbing you here in your personal quarters. Hastings sent me here before I was to take my leave. Your servants have said the road has been determined to be safe—"

"Safe to a point," the Count shut his book in a perfunctory manner. "The sunlight took care of that thing from last night. That said, you have had already one particularly odd experience; I would not rely on daylight to ensure that the odd events will not continue."

Elanore politely averted her eyes so not to be looking directly back at him. "I am aware now of the risks there are in this area. But I do not want to impose on your hospitality any further and it is important that I must go-"

"Your grandmother, was it?" He had apparently discarded the book in his hands before coming to stand beside her. "She lives in Winchester, I take it."

"Yes, sir." She grasped her basket more tightly with one hand, and closed her cloak with the other. "She was married to the mayor there, but after he passed away, she lives alone. She has no one to look after her and her health is ailing, so I've been sent to care for her by my mother and father…"

The Count picked up a metal poker; with it he adjusted a log in the fireplace before he spoke. "I had heard of the Mayor taking ill. I had no idea that she had family to the South." He spoke quietly, his voice a little less chilly.

"We would ask her to come South if it were any other time of year," Elanore turned her gaze back to the fire. "But it's much too cold to move her south, and she is too responsible to leave until a new Mayor can be sent to Winchester from the capitol regions."

"No traveler will come this way from the East until spring," the Count spoke authoritatively.

"No, they will not," Elanore acknowledged. "This region is not important to them."

"It has never been important to them," he responded bluntly. "There is no wealth to obtain, few crops to harvest, no fishing and little trade."

"That is what grandmother said as well," Elanore turned her head to look at him. "It seems you think alike. Perhaps you are acquainted with my grandmother?"

He shook his head. "Not personally. Even so," he shifted the topic, "I'm familiar with the home that she resides in. With these conditions, you are still almost an hour's walk from your grandmother's home."

"I should be able to walk that distance easily if the shadows are gone—"

The Count raised an eyebrow. "While the shadows seemed to have dispelled in the morning light, there are still wild animals about now. I'll have a carriage convey you to town at least. Beyond that point to your grandmother's home, no animals or other things should interfere with your journey. "

"Did you see what happened to it?" Elanore could not help but be curious. "I mean the Unthing or shadow thing. I had tried to stay awake to see what it would do and what would become of it-."

Something akin to amusement flickered across the man's face. "But you fell asleep."

She nodded, embarrassed. "I had overestimated my power to stay awake. Thankfully nothing happened."

"Indeed," he looked back at the fire. "But yes, the creature faded away into nothingness when the sunlight hit it. It is certainly gone, and it is certainly safe for you to continue forward now."

"Without your assistance, that would not be possible. I am grateful for it, as I'm sure my grandmother will be once I am able to tell her—"

"Ah," he grimaced slightly. "If you would, Miss Redley -please do not mention this help to her at all. Northlanders are notoriously proud and concerned about appearances as well as favors given by strangers, and in particular strangers like myself. It would be better to say nothing of this."

Elanore was taken aback by the request, but seeing the slight frown on the man's face, did not push the matter further. "Then sir, I shall mention nothing of having met you to my Grandmother."

A long silence followed, ending finally when the Count cleared his throat. "I think it's best to send Hastings with you, who has some business in town. It would be easy to give the appearance that he saw you upon the road and wished to provide a ride."

She nodded, accepting this suggestion. At that moment, Hastings magically reappeared at Elanore's side. "My apologies, sir, for being delayed. The driver was sleeping."

Elanore wondered at the man's ability to appear from nowhere at the most convenient of times. It was apparent that the audience was over, but in spite of Hastings apparent readiness to leave, she belabored over the matter of how to appropriately thank the Count.

It pained her to think that his services would go generally unacknowledged by her grandmother.

Where credit could not be given, she thought a gift might suffice instead. However, she had nothing she could freely give other than the apples she was carrying in her basket. It was a rather humble offering, but for now, it was all she could offer. As such, she turned to him and pressed a few in his hands. "If there is anything I may do to return the favor, please let me know."

He looked down at the apples, somewhat startled by the gesture. She withdrew her fingers quickly from his hand, wondering if she had violated yet another protocol.

"There is something I'd like to ask," he shifted the apples within his hands.

"Yes, sir?"

He furrowed his brow thoughtfully and turned his gaze upon the mantelpiece. "Tell me, how are things faring in the Southlands where you come from? These apples are out of season are they not?"

It was a strange question, but she gave it honest consideration. "In most years, they may be, but it has been a very warm and long spring and summer thus far. Overall, it has been a good year for harvesting. Our yield has been significantly better than most years. Many families are migrating to the south, looking to share in some of that plenty."

"Where one suffers, the other prospers," the Count responded.

"Come again?" Elanore blinked.

"My apologies, I was simply recalling something of an old wives' tale." He turned his attention away from the wall above the fireplace and bowed politely. "I shall not detain you any longer to satisfy my own curiosity. A good day and good health to your grandmother, Miss Redley"

Elanore bowed in return and allowed Hastings to guide her out.

They left the Count alone in his study, frowning at the apples.


End file.
